


The lost cause of words

by Raehimura



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Background Gavin Reed - Freeform, Background RK900, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Gets Injured, First Time, Getting Together, Hank Anderson Has Self-Esteem Issues, Hank Anderson Swears, Hankcon Valentines Exchange, Implied Reed/RK900 if you squint, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nobody Is Good At Feelings Here, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Connor, RK900 Is A Bro, They Have Sex In A Storage Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 21:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18039566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raehimura/pseuds/Raehimura
Summary: The second time they have sex, it's everything Hank expected. Soft, reverent, loving. Warm touches and long, slow explorations and murmurs of sweet words of devotion. Nothing he ever expected to have again, and everything Connor deserves.That was the second time.The first time started with Conner slamming his fist into a wall so hard the bricks near Hank's ear crack.





	The lost cause of words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sichi/gifts).



The second time they have sex, it's everything Hank expected. Soft, reverent, loving. Warm touches and long, slow explorations and murmurs of sweet words of devotion. Nothing he ever expected to have again, and everything Connor deserves.

That was the second time.

The first time started with Conner slamming his fist into a wall so hard the bricks near Hank's ear crack. It started with Hank staring, a bit dazed, at the smears of blue blood on Conner's knuckles and wondering when exactly the conversation had gone off the rails.

***

Hank had been handling it well, all things considered.

They’d had a close call with a fleeing suspect, who’d rounded the corner with his gun very definitely pointed right at Hank. In his estimation, he’d had about a 50/50 chance of getting his own weapon up in time, an even better chance of this strung-out kid missing anything vital. It sucked, but shit happened in the field.

At least, all kinds of shit happened to Hank before he got himself a plastic partner.

This time, instead of facing down those 50/50 odds alone, Hank found himself stumbling out of the way as Conner pushed past him to rush the suspect head on. The armed and dangerous suspect tweaked on Red Ice and trying to escape a murder rap. Whose gun was now pointed at Connor’s face.

Hank’s yell was swallowed by the sound of the gunshot.

And then the sound of the perp’s own yell went high and strangled as Connor slammed him, face first, into the concrete. Hank’s eyes couldn’t really track the movement, but he did see Connor get the kid’s arms pinned with a knee in his back as he pulled the gun away.

Cursing long and fluently, Hank took over, shoving the cuffs onto the guy with slightly more forced than strictly necessary. The kid struggled briefly and then lay still, and between the drugs and the body slam, he had to be on the way to unconsciousness. So Hank left him on the damp concrete while he radioed in their waiting backup. 

Connor examined the confiscated gun before releasing the clip one-handed and tossing the disarmed weapon to Hank. Technically, he still didn’t have the right to carry.

He started to step around Hank, back toward their prone suspect, but Hank caught a flash of something in the dim streetlight and caught his wrist. There, just below the curve of his shoulder, the fabric of his coat was torn and stained dark. Blue.

“Shit, Connor, were you hit?”

Connor frowned down at the wound, and Hank gripped his wrist tighter. “Yes. A few biocomponents were damaged, but it’s not serious.”

Hank just stared, jaw tight, unable to tear his eyes away from the slow spread of blue blood down Connor’s arm as the adrenaline rushed high and tight in his chest. Which was when their backup arrived, cutting off Hank’s panic as their perp was carted off and Connor was whisked away by one of their newly trained EMTs to get patched up.

It was a couple hours of interrogation and debriefing and paperwork later, just past 2 a.m. in the mostly deserted station, before Hank got a chance to talk to Connor. He tailed him to one of the out of the way storage rooms to log the last of the evidence – a one man job, but Hank needed to see Connor in one piece to calm the heavy feeling in his gut.

“That was a dumb risk out there today, Con,” Hank let himself say, gruff, and maybe that wasn’t the smoothest opening, but it was fine. It was all fine. He’d give himself the one complaint, Connor would shrug it off, and then they’d go home and Hank would drink until his hands stopped shaking.

Hank wasn’t freaking out, and he wasn’t mother-henning, thank you very much. Caring that much wasn’t his style, and anyway, Connor certainly didn’t need that from him. He just wanted to make sure his partner was alright. He definitely wasn’t going to give in to the urge to shake him by the shoulders and yell some choice words about being more careful. 

Even the sight of Connor stripped down to his undershirt, with an oddly human bandage poking out from under the sleeve, looking more vulnerable than Hank has ever seen him, didn’t shake Hank’s resolve to keep his cool.

But that was before Connor opened his stupid, perfect mouth.

“It was necessary.” Connor played off Hank’s concern with a shrug, as expected. But then he brushed a hand fitfully over the bandage and continued.

“Though I am sorry for damaging your-” Connor stopped, blinking rapidly as his LED flashed yellow. “I mean, the DPD’s property.”

It was the tone that got to Hank. It wasn’t sarcastic or angry – that he'd have understood. It was blasé. Vaguely apologetic. Like small talk on a rainy day.

Screw keeping his cool.

“What the fuck Connor?" Hank hissed, getting in his face. "You’re not equipment, and you’re damn well not disposable, or replaceable, anymore. You could have gotten your damn head blown off out there!”

Connor looked at him coolly, frown growing sharp.

“I may not be able to replace my body anymore, but I am still significantly more durable than a human, Lieutenant.” Always reverting to the title when he got pissy. Hank knew androids would turn out to be little shits. “Should I have let you get _your_ 'damn head blown off' instead?”

Hank snorted, drawing himself up to his full height to loom over Connor even as he tried to back down. He wasn’t really mad at Connor, and he didn’t even know what they were arguing about. But he was sick with emotions he had no wish to examine, and anger had always come easier.

So his voice is caustic when he spits, “I may be a human, but I’m a big boy, Connor. And I’ve been doing this job a hell of a lot longer than you. I can take care of myself.”

Before he knew it, Connor had grabbed his wrist and pushed him back, pressing Hank to the wall with an arm across his chest. Hard.

“So can I!” Connor's voice exploded from him with enough force to warp itself, static edging in. Hank had never heard him this loud, this expressive. He’d be impressed if he wasn’t so pissed himself.  “I’m an adult of my species, Hank. I made a calculated tactical risk in the field, and we completed our mission with only minor damage. I’d call that a success!”

“You getting shot is not a success!” Hank presses a hand to Connor's shoulder, just above the sterile white gauze hiding the wound. “ _This_ is not a success.”

And then Connor’s fist was embedded in the brick beside Hank’s head, Connor’s blood was dripping from his knuckles, and Hank’s ears were ringing with the sound of impact. “Better me than you!”

Hank dropped his head back against the wall in frustration, scoffing. “How the hell do you figure that?”

Connor seemed to still down to his smallest biocomponents. Quiet. Dangerous. Seething. He leaned slowly into Hank's space, a challenge in his eyes, and growled, “Either I’m an autonomous being or I’m not, Hank. Either you trust me to be your partner in the field, or you don’t.”

“Connor, goddammit-”

“I can make my own decisions now, and if I choose to risk myself for you then that’s my choice.”

He was in Hank’s face, sharing air, his voice a low rumble of defiance. “I will not stand by and watch you get yourself killed. However much you may want to.”

Hank stared at the hand-crafted perfection of his eyes. Connor stared back, stared him down. And Hank couldn't do this, couldn’t handle the closeness, the unbroken stare, the challenge. Connor, looking right into him. So he did the stupidest thing he possibly could do: He kissed him.

Their lips crashed, harsh and furious, more the next stage of the argument than a kiss. Hank immediately regretted his entire existence, trying to reel back, but he barely got a breath between them before Connor lunged forward with a snarl and kissed him in earnest.

Hank could feel the pretense of anger draining away, replaced by something just as bright. His arms surrounded Connor, engulfing his smaller frame, but Connor kept him pinned to the wall almost effortlessly, and Hank didn’t fight it. 

Connor was all inexperienced hunger, pressing into Hank's lips and against his broad chest like he was starving for touch, and Hank couldn’t think beyond driving instinct. He curled thick fingers into Conner's silk-soft hair, angling his head into the kiss and thrilling when Connor's lips opened to the swipe of his tongue.

He shifted, tugging Connor even closer and getting a leg between Connor’s own, barely sparing the focus to be pleasantly surprised to find a familiar hardness there. (That answered a question Hank hadn’t allowed himself to ask, even in his late night fantasies.) Connor broke the kiss to groan, high and tremulous, eyes wide like he’d never made that sound before. 

He probably hadn’t.

Connor blinked at him once, languid, before diving back into the kiss and shoving his hips forward, practically climbing Hank in his efforts to ride the thick muscle of his thigh. Hank dropped his hands to Conner’s hips to rock them together, finding friction of his own, uncoordinated in a way he hadn’t been since high school. But despite the lack of finesse, Hank was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

It was just a few more moments of groping and grinding in the half-dark before Connor jerked in his arms and went rigid, with a moan that sounded something like a stereo glitch and a steady flash of red at his temple.

The lights above them flickered with a sharp buzz, but Hank barely noticed because Connor had melted against him, lips pressing clumsily to his neck with a more-human moan, as one palm slid down to grind against the desperate swell of Hank’s cock under rough denim. That one touch was enough, sending him tripping into a knee-buckling orgasm.

When he got his vision back and his feet firmly under him, Connor was draped against his chest, hands idly soothing at his sides and cheek warm against his shoulder. Hank gave himself a minute to hold Connor against him, even as the worry and regret circled threateningly at the edges of his mind.

Connor leaned back enough to look him in the eye, smiling that impossibly soft smile of his, before leaning down to press a barely-there kiss to Hank’s cheek. Hank felt, of all things, like he might cry.

“Hank,” Connor murmured softly, “Can we go home and talk about this? About maybe doing this again?”

And if Hank was worried about any of this — about the impossibility, about being unworthy, about being ready to feel this much again — those doubts were nothing in the face of the flustered earnestness on Connor’s face.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can do that.”

Connor smiled up at him even brighter, and Hank was idly wondering how embarrassing it would be if he really did cry, when Connor’s face blanked out and his LED flickered a soft blue morse code against his temple. 

“Ah, Hank, it seems Detective Reed is en route,” Connor informed him in a surprisingly calm voice, given the state of disarray they were currently in.

For his part, Hank just groaned, cursed Gavin’s name, and hurried to attempt the impossible task of making it look like they hadn’t just had sex in a storage room. 

They got themselves sorted just in time to open the door first and breeze past Reed, who looked ready to start a fight. “What the fuck were you two doing, and why did the whole damn station just lose power?”

Hank ignored him, trying to match Connor’s perfectly innocent posture, but it was a lot harder to ignore their newest android recruit, who had come up behind his ranting partner.

“Are you alright, Connor?” Nines inquired mildly. “Your core systems seem to be running hot.”

“Yes. Well.” Connor stuttering might not have been so unusual, but being unable to meet his fellow android’s eyes was a dead giveaway. “I _was_ shot today.”

Hank stepped in and dropped a hand on Connor’s uninjured shoulder. 

“I’m taking Connor home and forcing him to take his newly government-mandated sick day,” Hank barked, sparing no attention for Gavin’s angry fuming in the face of Connor’s sudden, beaming smile. A whole day to talk things out didn’t sound so bad after all.

“Try not to burn down the precinct while we’re gone,” he added over his shoulder as he steered Connor toward the door. Gavin’s curse echoed loudly behind them.

“Dammit, Nines, what the fuck was that about?” Reed demanded. “What are Anderson and his Detective Barbie up to now?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” Nines deadpanned.

The precinct door shut on the sound of Reed screeching.

***

The next morning, Connor woke from stasis with Hank wrapped around him, warm and safe in his bed, to a message alert from his unofficial “twin.”

> **RK-900 *NINES*:** Don’t worry about Detective Reed. I believe I have sufficiently distracted him from any further speculation about you and Lt. Anderson. Given my satisfaction with the means of distraction, we’ll call ourselves even for the warning yesterday.
> 
> **RK-900 *NINES*:** Enjoy your ‘sick day’ with the Lieutenant.

Connor hid is grin in the warmth of Hank’s bare shoulder and settled in for a long, slow morning.


End file.
